


First Comes Love

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Series: Anne of Green Gables AU [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Anne of Green Gables - Freeform, F/M, Jon x Sansa Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4825634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When some schoolroom teasing takes an unexpected turn, Sansa vows she will never EVER forgive Jon Snow…but never is an awfully long time.</p><p>Written for Round 1 of the Jon x Sansa Remix on Livejournal<br/>Remix Couple: Anne Shirley x Gilbert Blythe</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Comes Love

**First Comes Love**

“Arya! We’re going to be late!”

Sansa hurried down the lane, tugging Bran by the hand. Jeyne and Arya tripped along behind them, their dinner pails swinging wildly at their sides.

It was only the second week of the new school term and it would not do to be tardy.

“We should have left when Robb did,” Arya groused, hiking up her hem as she struggled to keep up with Sansa’s long strides.

Sansa ignored her.

Robb was nearly fourteen and thought himself quite grown up. She knew he preferred the company of the other boys in his year to playing mother hen to his younger siblings.

 _In two years he will be at Queen’s College not Winterfell School_ , Sansa thought glumly. She supposed it was best they get used to walking without him.

They rushed into the schoolhouse and were relieved to find Mr. Luwin had not yet arrived. Arya and Bran both scrambled for seats toward the front with the other primer students.

“Oh dear,” Jeyne murmured, shifting uneasily beside Sansa.

The only empty desk left was one in front of Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow.

Sansa understood her friend’s apprehension. The older boys all sat together in the back of the schoolroom and they liked to tease the girls something awful.

Theon Greyjoy was the worst of the lot. Last term he hid a bullfrog in Alys Karstark’s desk and the summer before last he tacked the end of Wynafryd Manderly’s braid to the wooden back of her family’s pew. When she rose to join the hymn during service she was violently yanked back to her seat and let out a great yelp for fear she had been snatched bald.

But Jon Snow was not near so bad. He was in Robb’s year and was friendly to the younger Starks, never refusing to play hide-and-seek or give rides on his back down the road (though Sansa had always thought the latter rather undignified) _._

_It won’t be so bad._

Sansa steeled herself and grabbed Jeyne by the wrist, bravely marching to their seats. She refused to look at Theon, not wanting to tempt fate, but spared a glance for Jon Snow who offered them both a friendly half-smile.

Mr. Luwin arrived shortly after, to Sansa’s relief, and morning lessons passed without incident. Even so, Jeyne was a bundle of nerves, fidgeting beside Sansa and casting wary looks over her shoulder.

 _Perhaps Robb has warned them off,_ Sansa thought hopefully, looking to where Robb sat whispering with the Tallhart brothers.

It wasn’t until the afternoon that the trouble started.

Mr. Luwin was at the front of the class leading a geography lesson with the primer students. This left the older children at liberty to do as they pleased, whispering, and scribbling drawings on their slates, and covertly swapping penny candies wrapped in wax paper.

Sansa cast a longing look to where Beth Cassel, Wylla Manderly, and Alys Karstark sat by the window, talking and giggling with their heads bent close together.

She resigned herself to memorizing the dictation Mr. Luwin had tasked.

She was midway through the page when she felt something flick one of the plaits hanging down her back. Sansa ignored it, though she did shift forward in her seat, remembering Wynafryd Manderly all too well.

She had just found her place again when she felt another tug on her hair.

“Hey,” Jon Snow said lowly, leaning forward over his desk. Surprised at being ignored and too used to his playful teasing with the other Starks, Jon tried to get her attention again, giving one final tweak of her braid. “Hey Carrots! _Carrots_!”

Sansa froze.

She had always liked her hair, and though she sometimes lamented it was not quite the becoming auburn of Mother’s, she held hope it might darken with time. She always kept it neat and tied off with ribbons, and in the spring she delighted in weaving wreaths from buttercups and wild roses and Queen Anne’s lace to set atop her head. On special occasions, Sansa always took pains to tie it up in rags the night before and then brushed her curls out until they shone bright like a new penny.

But now, with ‘ _carrots_ ’ ringing in her ears, she was sure there was nothing so wretched in the entire world as having red hair.

She could hear Theon sniggering behind her, and absolutely burned with the humiliation of it.

Like a girl possessed she sprung to her feet, flushed with fury.

“How dare you!” she shouted. “You mean, hateful boy!

Jon Snow’s easy smile fell away, his eyes widening with alarm. But that was nothing to the surprise he felt when Sansa Stark’s slate came smashing over his head.

A hush fell over the room. Students twisted in their seats eager to see what would happen next. Sansa stood numbly, still clutching her now broken slate, as shocked as any of them by what she had done.

“Sansa Stark! What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Luwin said, charging down the aisle towards them. “I will not tolerate this sort of behavior in my classroom.”

“It was my fault, sir.” Jon Snow stood up. “I was teasing her. I—”

“That is enough! Sit down, Mr. Snow!”

Jon looked ready to protest but was silenced by a sharp look from the schoolmaster.

“I am disappointed. This is not the conduct I expect from my students, Miss Stark. Please stand on the platform at the front of the room. You may spend the afternoon thinking on how you will better control your temper in the future.”

Hoots and whispers followed Sansa as she made the mortifying journey to the head of the class.

Sansa was a good girl. She never got into trouble at school. It was always Arya or Robb, sometimes even little Bran, but _never_ Sansa.

She blinked back the prickling sting of tears, not wanting to add to her humiliation by crying in front of everyone. Taking her place on the platform, she met Arya, Bran and Robb’s stunned faces, Jeyne’s sympathetic glances, and Theon’s big stupid smirk. She refused to look at Jon Snow (though if she had she might have seen he looked as miserable as she felt).

 _A whipping would have been better than this,_ she thought. At least it would be over and done with and she would not have all these eyes on her.

When school was finally dismissed for the day, Jeyne was not the only one waiting for her outside the door.

“Sansa wait! Please! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of your hair. I was only teasing. I just wanted to talk to you,” Jon said, head ducked in contrition. “I think your hair is real pretty. Honest.” This last entreaty was said quieter than the rest, with Jon pink-cheeked and shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Under other circumstances, Sansa would easily bend to such a heartfelt plea, but the shame and resentment of her punishment was much too fresh.

Sansa raised her chin and swept by Jon as if he had not spoken at all.

“Sansa! How could you?!” Jeyne cried once they were out of earshot, hooking her arm through Sansa’s. “You saw how sorry he was. I’m sure Jon didn’t mean anything by it. You know how the boys like to tease us and give out nicknames, and I’ve never seen one apologize before.”

Sansa sniffed, her pride still smarting.

“I’ll never forgive Jon Snow for this. _Never_.”

The next day Sansa made doubly sure not to be late to school and chose as seat that was as close to the front as possible.

When she returned to her desk after the noon hour, she found a lemon candy wrapped in wax waiting on her new slate. She looked around, surprised, and found Jon Snow staring right at her.

He nodded and gave her a shy smile.

Sansa looked away. She took her seat and pulled out her books for that afternoon’s lesson. With a casual sweep of her hand she knocked the candy to the ground and kicked it somewhere behind her.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught the stricken look on Jon’s face. She smiled, feeling a strange sort of triumph course through her. 

_No, I will not forgive Jon Snow. Not soon, anyway._

 

* * *

 

While the incident with the slate was quickly forgotten among the other children, replaced by new mischiefs and gossip, Sansa stayed true to her word. She remained icy towards Jon Snow throughout the course of winter term. 

Still, time can work wonders on even the most stubborn of tempers, and eventually all might have been well…were it not for the trouble at the Norrey’s abandoned barn. 

As winter’s hold began to ebb, and the days were once again fine enough to play out-of-doors, _dares_ became the fashion with the scholars of Winterfell School. At first it was only small dares. Standing on one leg for a full ten minutes or walking backwards on the path from the schoolhouse to the footbridge, but soon the children grew bolder in their daring. 

Arya took a particular liking to this pastime. She delighted in walking fence posts and catching mice and stealing apples from sour old Mrs. Dustin’s orchard. She began to garner quite a reputation for herself, and soon the older boys made pet of her, letting her trail after them and join in their games.

Sansa did not think anything of it at first. She'd long given up trying to lure her sister into playing knights and ladies or weaving crowns of flowers with the other girls during the noon hour, and Arya had always made easy friends with anyone.

But when she and Jeyne crossed over the footbridge on Manderly Pond and spotted Arya laughing and fishing with Jon Snow, Sansa was incensed. It was bad enough that Robb was practically knit to his side, but now Jon had stolen Arya as well?

Arya was _her_ sister. They did not always get along, but she should be on Sansa’s side! Not fraternizing with the likes of some horrid boy who was responsible for the single greatest humiliation of Sansa's entire life!

Perhaps it was the lingering sting of Arya's betrayal that made her do it. Some desperate attempt to prove to her sister she could be brave too. Or maybe it was the stupid smile on Jon Snow's face. Whatever the reason, three days later Sansa accepted her first dare.

“I dare you to go inside the Norrey's old barn,” Cley Cerwyn challenged Robb right after that week’s Sunday School lesson. 

Gasps and murmurs rose up from among the other children, who watched on with bated breath.

No one had stepped foot into the dilapidated barn that sat on the back quarter of old Brandon Norrey's farm in years. While this was more to do with fallen beams and wood rot, among the small fry of the village it was widely believed that the barn was haunted. More than once, children claimed to have heard cries coming from within as they passed, and Smalljon Umber swore up and down that his great-uncle Mors had seen the ghost of Raya Norrey walking through the doors, white as milk and wretchedly wailing about her dead children.

It was whispered that if a child came too near, the ghost would snatch them away to replace the babes she had lost. And while most thought it only a story meant to scare them from sneaking blueberries from Mr. Norrey’s backfield, it still was enough to keep the children of Winterfell School from venturing to the other side of the paddock.

 _It is not a fair dare_ , Sansa thought anxiously, but she knew Robb would never back down.

“Nothing to it,” Robb said, a cocky grin stretching on his face. “Want me to grab some berries while I'm at it?”

This earned a few giggles, particularly from Alys who flushed pink when Robb winked at her.

“I'll believe it when I see it,” Cley said, arms folded in front of him. 

“Well we're coming too!” Arya rushed forward, chest-puffed out, tugging Bran by the hand. 

“Me too,” Sansa added hurriedly. They would see. She could be just as brave as Arya.

Robb looked at her, stunned, but nodded.

Soon more were volunteering, no one wanting to be thought a coward, until there was quite a merry band headed down the main road, whispering to one another excitedly as they made their way to the Norrey's.

“Are there really ghosts?” Bran asked in a small voice, his hand gripping hers rather hard.

“Of course not!” Sansa said confidently, giving his hand a squeeze. But as they drew closer, Sansa felt some of her courage fade. 

The barn was a wretched looking thing. Sunk in on one end, with half the shingles missing and most of the wood grey from hard years of rain and wind. 

 _It certainly looks haunted_ , Sansa thought grimly. 

Robb went first, pushing back the doors that hung half off their hinges before stepping through. The rest followed, keeping close to one another, not daring even a whisper. A few field mice scampered across their path and Sansa had to bite her cheek to keep from shrieking out.

It was pitch dark inside save for a few shoots of sunlight leaking through holes in the roof. Sansa watched as large motes of dust danced in the light, kicked up by their boots as they forged ahead, and were she not quite so frightened she might have thought them beautiful. 

They'd nearly made it to the other side when they heard it, a low and terrible moan. Everyone froze and watched as a white specter emerged from behind some broken crates, continuing to moan as it walked towards them.

Sansa and several of the others cried out in terror before fleeing out the door. They were clear across Mr. Norrey’s backfield when they stopped, out of breath and trembling. Arya was nowhere to be seen, _still inside the barn then_ , but Bran was clinging tightly to Sansa’s arm crying. He wasn’t the only one in tears.

“It’s Raya Norrey! I know it is!” Beth Cassel wailed, wringing her hands hysterically. “She’s come to snatch us all!”

But it wasn’t Raya Norrey. It was only Jon Snow covered in flour.

By the time they learned to the truth of it, Robb and Cley and Theon were all howling with laughter. Jon was laughing too, flour still clinging to his dark hair as he tried to shake it out. His smile fell when he met Sansa’s eye.

She looked away quickly, face hot with embarrassment and feeling extremely silly for running.

“You’ve made Bran cry, stupid” Arya scolded, having followed the boys out of the barn. She gave Robb a sharp punch in the arm, though she did not seem too angry, for she smiled right after.

Robb received a much sterner punishment when they returned home. 

Sansa supposed she should feel vindicated as she watched Robb shift uncomfortably across the supper table, his backside still sore from the strapping he received, but all she could feel was angry that she let Jon Snow make a fool of her once again.

 

* * *

 

“Oh Mother! It's marvelous! I've never seen something so exquisite in all my life!” Sansa gushed, clasping her hands together. 

She gave a twirl watching her reflection in Mother's looking glass. The dress was prettier than any she'd ever worn before, a white organdy with a large bow in back and _puff sleeves_! 

Mother smiled and ran a gentle hand over Sansa's hair. It was still just as red as it ever was (there was no changing that) but Mother had brushed it smooth and woven in some blue roses when she arranged it, which Sansa felt helped distract from the color a great deal.

“I'm glad, sweetling” Mother said. “And how grown up you look!”

“Do I? Do I really?” Sansa asked eagerly, looking closer at her reflection. 

She took a moment to admire her Mother's careful stitches and the fashionable high lace collar. It was a terribly impractical dress, only suitable for the most special of occasions but that made Sansa love it all the more. 

She remembered when she and Arya accompanied Father on his trip to New York two years before, how lovely Mrs. Baratheon had seemed in her white gowns and pearls. Sansa was sure she had never seen anyone as beautiful as Cersei Baratheon in real life, aside from Mother of course, and she had returned home desperately wishing that she might look so elegant one day. 

 _And now I do_! Sansa though giddily, twirling once more. 

“The concert will be finished if we do not leave soon,” Father said from the doorway, tugging at his cuffs and looking deeply uncomfortable in his suit.

“What do you think, Father? Is it not the most beautiful dress you've ever seen?”

Father paused, appraising her. 

“You look very fine,” he finally said, a catch in his voice. 

Sansa beamed, feeling like a queen, and gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek right above his whiskers.

Sansa was near trembling with excitement when they arrived at the White Harbor Hotel. She hurried to take her place by Meera Reed, while her parents and the younger Starks took seats with the rest of the audience. The school was putting up a concert to mark the opening of the fall term. Usually it was the big scholars who were asked to recite, but Mr. Luwin had also chosen Sansa to do a reading (the only one selected from her class)!

At first Sansa listened attentively, thrilled to be included, but as Sansa's turn to perform drew nearer, her nerves increased. 

 _I cannot do this!_ She fretted, watching as Jorelle Mormont took a second bow for her reading of “ _Brave Danny Flint_ ”.

Sansa glanced anxiously through the hall. Perhaps she could tell Father she was feeling ill and they might slip out without anyone knowing. As her eyes combed the crowd for her parents, Sansa caught a glimpse of a familiar dark head of curls. 

Jon Snow was seated next to Robb and Arya, dressed in his grey Sunday suit. His eye met hers and he gave her a warm smile. Sansa quickly snapped her attention back to the front of the room. 

 _I will not look like a baby again_ , Sansa swore then, remembering her humiliating flight from 'Raya Norrey's ghost'. _I will not give Jon Snow another reason to laugh at me_. 

Straightening her spine, Sansa continued to listen to the other performers. When her name was called at last, she envisioned she was a great lady from out of one of her stories and gracefully made her way to the platform, chin raised high. 

She took a deep breath and began. Her voice was clear and firm, carrying easily across the room. Any thought of her nerves or Jon Snow soon was forgotten as she was swept up in her own words. She was no longer Sansa Stark. She was Jenny. 

There was a hush in the room as she finished, and Sansa was surprised to find she had tears in her eyes, so caught up was she in Jenny’s sad tale.

As if waking from the same hazy dream, the audience began to applaud, some even rising to their feet and Sansa flushed with pride.

“I have never seen anything like it!” Jeyne cried, clasping Sansa's hand in hers after the concert. “You were the best of the night! Truly!”

Both Bran and Arya nodded enthusiastically, though Arya complained that next time Sansa should do a reading from the _Ten Thousand Ships_ because there was far less moping in that one. 

Robb then pulled her into a one-armed embrace, kissing the crown of her head, and crowing over what a clever little sister he had!

Sansa knew her face must be as red as her hair from all of the attention, but she was too pleased by how well it had gone off to care. 

Her smile faded when she saw Jon approach the group. 

“It was very well done, Sansa. You have a real talent,” Jon praised, eyes crinkling as he smiled. He did not seem to be making fun, and it was rather ungracious to snub him here in a public place, especially so fresh of the heels of her success.

“Thank you.” Sansa accepted his praise stiffly, before looping her arm through Jeyne's, and crossing to where her parents were speaking with the Tallhart's, not bothering to cast a glance back at the troubled looking boy she left behind.

 

* * *

 

It was a fine spring day, and they were all stretched out on the meadow behind the schoolhouse, idly working on a great length of clover chain and pooling their lunches together. It was great fun most of the time but Mother had packed _lemon cakes_ this morning and when divided among six girls that only left a bite for each. Sansa did not mind sharing, truly, but she did so love lemon cakes and had left her bite carefully wrapped in the bottom of her dinner basket to save for last.

“Did you hear? Wyafryd Manderly has been walking out with Smalljon Umber after the Debating Club for the last month! And Alysanne swears she saw Wynafryd riding in his buggy after the Sunday service. _Alone_ ,” Jory said, positively gleeful.

“So?” 

“ _So_ that means he is her beau!” Jory said, sounding terribly smug and superior. Jorelle had three older sisters and supposed this made her an authority when it came to courting and beaus.

“Isn't Smalljon's name written next to Branda Flint’s on the porch wall with a big ‘Take Notice’ over it?” Jeyne asked, wide-eyed.

“Along with half a dozen other girls’ names,” Meera teased, sending all of the girls into a fit of giggles.

“Oh hush!” Jory said, though she was smiling too. "Besides, that's only meant as a joke." 

"Well I think it's silly!" Sansa declared. "I should hate it for anyone to write my name up with a boy's.”

Some of the other girls nodded in quiet agreement but Alys leaned towards her, a sly grin stretched across her face.

“Not even Jon Snow?”

“Of course not!” Sansa said, aghast.

Her dislike of Jon Snow had carried over well into the new school year. Arya accused her of being stuck-up for holding a grudge over something so silly and maybe she was right. Jon's long ago slight against her hair did not carry the same sting it once had, but still, there was something inside Sansa that stubbornly refused to give in. 

“Well Theon told Dacey that Jon Snow is _dead gone_ on you,” Jory piped in, eager to share in new gossip. “He talks about you all of the time.”

“Ha! Well you should know better than to listen to anything Theon Greyjoy says.”

“But it's true!” Alys insisted. “Last fall, after the concert, I saw him pick up flower that had fallen from your hair and put it in his pocket!”

Now _this_ had Sansa’s attention.

Were it any other boy, such a romantic gesture would be enough to make her swoon, but for _Jon Snow_ to have done it…

It couldn’t possibly be true. Surely. Then again, Sansa had always been so consumed by her how much she despised Jon, she’d never bothered to consider what he might think of her.

Sansa thought back on all the times she had caught Jon stealing glances her way at school or in church. They were never flirtatious or full of longing like the ones she read about in stories. If anything, they were curious, as if he were trying to puzzle her out. But he always smiled when she met his eye. _And he does have such a nice smile._

“Oh! And he told Harry that he thinks you're one of the smartest girls at Winterfell School,” Alys continued excitedly. “Even though you’re only in year five.”

Sansa frowned at that.

She took a lot of pride in her schoolwork, and had placed first in every subject last term save arithmetic. Still, she felt a little disappointed to hear that was Jon’s only praise. It was nothing like the sweet words in songs, and Sansa felt surely there must be some insult in it.

Sansa had been told she was pretty by other boys, and Brandon Tallhart had even tried to steal a kiss from her once during a church picnic. _But not Jon Snow._ It was all well and good to think her clever, but what did that matter when Jon looked at her and saw _carrots._

“He’s only making fun of me,” Sansa decided firmly. “And if anyone wrote my name up with Jon Snow’s, I’d never get over it!”

The other girls looked stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered, moving on to the subject of Meera’s new jade ring. Sansa only half-listened, glumly picking at the clover chain in her lap, the morsel of lemon cake in her basket long forgotten.

 

* * *

 

“Of course you must be Jonquil, Sansa,” said Jeyne.

“Oh yes, you must!” Beth echoed, bouncing as they made their way to Manderly Pond. It was the first truly warm day of the year and they meant to make the most of it.

“Very well, then Jeyne shall play one of Jonquil's sisters and you can be Florian,” Sansa agreed.

“Why must I always play the boy’s part?” Beth asked, pouting.

“Because you're too little to play anything else!” Jeyne teased.

“I'll trade with you and play Florian,” Sansa reasoned. “But you will have to get into the water then, for that is how he first comes upon her!”

This gave Beth pause. She was not a very strong swimmer and especially disliked swimming in Manderly Pond, with its silt bottom and all manner of things that might brush up against you hidden beneath its murky surface.

“No I'm alright!” Beth said quickly. “You'll make a better Jonquil anyway.”

This being finally decided, the three girls continued on the road in high spirits, pausing to pick buttercups and cornflowers on their way and tucking them in with their hair ribbons.

“Oh dear!” Jeyne cried, when they reached the dock. “The water looks awfully high here. Wouldn't we be better off on the other side?”

Sansa frowned. 

The water did seem to be deeper than usual, most likely from all the rain they'd received that spring. They would certainly have an easier time wading on the opposite bank where the water was usually shallow enough to see the bottom. 

Still, Sansa had a picture in her head of playing out the scene here by the great willow that stood near the dock, it's branches curtaining down to form a canopy of leaves that dipped into the water. It seemed a pity to waste such a setting, especially when the opposite shore had next to no trees, or at least none so pretty as the weeping willow. 

“It'll be fine. I'll show you.”

Sansa quickly stepped out of her boots and dress, setting them in a neat pile on the wood dock. She then jumped cleanly into the water. All of the Stark children were excellent swimmers, having learned when they visited their Uncle Edmure at the seaside. 

Sansa gave a few experimental strokes, splashing water at where her two friends waited on the shore, before diving below to see precisely how deep the water went. 

Satisfied that it did not seem too deep for Jeyne to brave, Sansa made to push back towards the surface but was jerked back sharply. Her shift had caught on something sitting on the pond floor. Sansa moved to untangle it but it was too difficult to see in the dark filmy water. Giving up, she tried to simply tear herself free, but had no luck. 

Panic began to set in, as Sansa tugged desperately at the fabric. Anxious and unthinking, she opened her mouth to cry for help only to swallow a great gulp of pond water. It burned her lungs, and she did not dare to open her mouth again.

She was beginning to feel dizzy, her tugs to free herself weaker with each pull, when suddenly her shift seemed to tear loose on its own. Then two strong arms hooked around her waist and dragged her to the surface. 

Settled on the sandy bank, Sansa coughed up half of Manderly Pond as she sputtered and gasped for air.

“Are you alright?” 

Sansa spared a glance at her rescuer and was shocked to see Jon Snow sitting beside her.

Still trying to catch her breath, her throat raw from the water she swallowed, Sansa only gave him a nod. 

His shoulders sagged in relief. He was gasping for breath himself, hunched over his knees. He was soaking wet and fully dressed.

 _He didn’t even remove his boots before diving in after me,_ Sansa thought wonderingly.

When he finally looked up at her again, his face flushed and he quickly averted his gaze. 

That's when Sansa realized she was still in just her shift. Her very wet, very torn shift. Sansa blushed herself and was about to scramble for her dress when he rose and grabbed a coat he must have shucked by the dock. 

“Here,” he said, offering the coat to her sheepishly, still not looking in her direction. She quickly shrugged it on. It was much too big, the sleeves dangling so that the cuffs just reached the tips of her ring fingers, but it was warm and she was grateful.

“What were you doing out here?” Jon asked, finally managing to look her way again, brow furrowed in concern.

“Swimming,” Sansa said dismissively. Never mind the why. Sansa could just imagine how Jon would make fun of her were he to know she was acting out Florian and Jonquil with... "Jeyne and Beth! Where are they?" Sansa asked, realizing at last that her friends were no longer standing on the shore. 

“They went for help. It's a lucky thing I heard Jeyne when I did. Though I'm sure they could hear clear across to Halifax from the way she was shrieking.” Jon chuckled, brushing back his dark hair where it was plastered to his forehead. “Are you sure you're alright?”

“I'm perfectly fine,” Sansa said politely, standing up with as much dignity as one who nearly drowned can muster. “I thank you for your assistance, Mr. Snow. I'm very much obliged to you.”

She handed back his coat, walking towards the dock and quickly stepping back into her dress. 

Jon remained where she left him, holding his coat and frowning.

“Sansa, I--" he began haltingly. "Can't we be friends now?”

Sansa froze, surprised, her boots dangling from one hand.

“I'm sorry I ever said anything about your hair,” Jon continued hurriedly. “You don't know how sorry. It was a stupid thing to say, but it was so long ago. Don't you think you can forgive me?”

Sansa hesitated, considering him. The half-shy half-eager smile on his face made her feel strangely warm all over.

_Jon Snow is dead gone on you._

Jory Mormont’s words came back to her in a rush, making her heart flutter, and for one mad moment she almost believed them. But then another memory came back, one more potent from the hundreds of times she’d replayed it in her head. The hiss of ‘carrots’ in her ear, dozens of mocking eyes fixed on her, sniggers concealed behind open primer books. Sansa’s greatest disgrace.

And just like that, all of Sansa’s old fury returned, as quick and powerful as it was the day she hit Jon Snow with her slate.

“No,” she said with a scornful toss of her head. “I won’t forgive you. And I will _never_ be friends with you, Jon Snow! Never!”

“Well fine!” Jon snapped, angry color in his cheeks. “Then I won't bother asking to be friends again, _Sansa Stark_!”

He stormed off through the trees back towards the road looking strangely defiant in spite of his dripping clothes.

Sansa was shocked. Jon had never raised his voice, not to her anyway.

 _He must be very angry,_ she thought, an odd feeling of regret washing over her. _Oh why did I say those things!_

Sansa stumbled up the path, cursing her temper. Her wet shift clung uncomfortably under her clothes, and she felt wretched enough to cry over what she’d done.

But there was no time for tears, for both Jeyne and Beth were barreling towards her.

“Oh Sansa! Sansa! I thought for sure you had drowned!” Jeyne cried, near hysterical.

“I'm alright. I'm alright!” Sansa said wearily. “I'm sorry to have frightened you.”

Both girls embraced her tightly.

“We thought you were k-k-killed and it w-w-as all our fault for making you Jonquil!” Beth said, between hiccoughing sobs.

“Nonsense!” Sansa chided, tucking the younger girl into her side.

“But how did you survive?” Jeyne asked, reaching to pluck a sodden buttercup from Sansa’s braid.

Sansa explained the events of Jon’s rescue, mindful to leave out the part where they quarreled.

“Oh my! How marvelously gallant!” Jeyne said, eyes shining with delight.

“It's all so _romantic_! Like something out of a song!” Beth agreed, clutching Sansa’s arm.

Sansa frowned, irritated as her friends continued to fawn over Jon's heroic rescue.

Beth was wrong. Nothing about it had been romantic. Drowning was not as tragically grand as one might suppose from reading novels and plays. It was terrifying. She had nearly _died_. And Jon…oh gods, Jon would probably never speak to her again! He had saved her life and she had been absolutely vile to him!

 _He’ll probably tell everyone in school about this now,_ Sansa realized with mounting horror.

Feeling utterly miserable, Sansa resolved to convince Mother she had come down with some grave illness, rather than face the teasing from the older set at Winterfell School.

Unfortunately, Mother was far too used to Sansa’s theatrics, and the next morning found Sansa walking down King’s Road to the schoolhouse with Arya and Bran on either side. Sansa steeled herself to face whatever mockery awaited her. _I deserve it._

But other than Jory and Alys babbling tearfully about her brush with death, and offering her their seat by the window, no one said a thing.

Sansa cast a few nervous looks at Jon throughout the lesson, but he refused to meet her eye. _He is ignoring me. I deserve that too._

Sansa sunk in her seat, the charms of a seat near the window soured by her miserable state. How dearly she wished she could undo everything and take back what she’d said by the pond the day before. But it was too late now.

_What a mess I’ve made of things!_

 

* * *

 

Sansa was making her way home from the post office, humming idly to herself and enjoying a fine summer day when a buggy pulled up alongside her.

She squinted up at the tall lad seated in the rig and was startled to find Jon Snow staring down at her.

“Hello,” he said shyly, meeting her eyes for the first time in weeks.

“Hello.” Sansa felt a nervous buzz shoot through her. She was suddenly very conscious of the crown of wildflowers perched crookedly on her head and felt childish and silly.

“Can I give you a ride home?” Jon offered, nodding to the parcels tucked under her arm.

Sansa paused, remembering Jory’s scandalized squeals over Wynafryd accepting rides from Smalljon Umber. While Sansa did no wish to be the subject of similar gossip, she was so eager to have Jon talking to her again, she did not want to spoil it by refusing.

“Yes. Thank you,” she smiled, letting Jon help her into the seat beside him, her packages nestled in her lap.

 _Jory’s head is filled with some fool ideas anyway,_ Sansa told herself, trying not to blush.

They rode in silence for a length, stealing unsure glances at one another. It was the first time they had been alone since that terrible day by the pond, and both were wary of how to proceed.

“Robb told me about your scores,” Sansa finally said, remembering how Jon had ranked second overall in the Queen’s entrance exams. “Congratulations. You’re sure to do well at Queen’s next year.”

Jon ducked his head, embarrassed.

“Thanks. But I’m actually putting it off a year. My folks can’t afford to have me away from the farm just yet.”

Sansa frowned. It was good of Jon to stay home if he was needed, but it seemed so terribly unfair that he should have to miss out on starting with all his friends in the fall term.

“I’ll be studying for my entrance exam next year,” Sansa said, an idea springing to mind. “Maybe we could study together? I always need some help with my arithmetic and I could help you keep from falling behind.”

Jon turned to her, smiling warmly.

“I’d like that. Does this mean you’ve forgiven me then? Shall we be friends?” Jon’s words were meant to be teasing, but his eyes were focused so steadily on her, Sansa knew her answer mattered.

“Yes, I suppose I have.”

In her heart of hearts Sansa knew she had forgiven Jon long ago. _How stubborn and foolish I have been._

“I would be glad to call you a friend,” she continued, her voice surer.

Jon laughed happily.

“We are going to be such good friends,” he said, cheeks dimpling from his grin. “You’ll see.”

Sansa smiled back, feeling lighter than she had in an age.

When the buggy pulled to the front of the Stark house, Jon leapt down and offered his hand. He was just being polite, but as he helped her down, his other hand briefly gripping her waist to steady her, a queer sort of fluttering started up in her chest.

“Thank you,” Sansa said, pink-cheeked. She tried to withdraw her hand but Jon held firm.

“What are _friends_ for?” Jon teased, giving her hand a squeeze before climbing back into the buggy.

“Goodnight Jon!”

Jon looked back and doffed his cap.

“Goodnight Carrots.”

Sansa smiled. Not so long ago that name would have sent her into a fury but now it only made her feel warm and silly and so oddly fond of Jon.

She stayed by the gatepost a moment longer, watching as the silhouette of Jon Snow moved down the road and melted into the twilight.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Anne of Green Gables' is one of those books that will always hold a special place in my heart. As a daydreamer with a love for stories I feel I am a bit of a ‘kindred spirit’ with both Anne and Sansa, and Anne x Gilbert was basically my first OTP (and I still ship them super hard to this day). It has been so much fun meshing the worlds of ASOIAF and Avonlea, and I can only hope I’ve done some justice to the story that I love so much.


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